


(possibly) (maybe) i've fallen for you

by museicalitea



Series: Leoji Week 2017 [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, First Meetings, Grocery Shopping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:04:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11597433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: Aisle 6CONFECTIONERYBAKING GOODSHOMEWARESCHIPSTHE CUTE GUY WHO BOUGHT A BLOWTORCH LAST WEEKJUICESSOFT DRINKS(Or, Leo saw the guy with the face of an angel for the first time on a Wednesday evening, in the pasta aisle of the grocery store.)Written for Leoji Week, Day 2: First Meetings





	(possibly) (maybe) i've fallen for you

**Author's Note:**

> This is ostensibly written for Leoji Week, Day 2: First Meetings (originally conceived with the Domestic prompt, but given how they're not actually together yet in here and it really is about first meetings... we're flexible here). Grocery shopping was inspired by the wonderful Lark and Meg, and Lark's good favourite AU which was under discussion a while back: met in the grocery store. Please excuse any inconsistencies with actual pseudo-American supermarkets; my one concession to maybe-location was using imperial measurements because Leo, and that's about it. For the most part, I'd imagine a supermarket is a supermarket is a supermarket.
> 
> (Title pinched from Landon Pigg's "Falling In Love at the Coffee Shop" (and yes that is a song that exists I am completely serious about this).)

It’s a Wednesday evening, a while after six-thirty, and Leo’s eyeing up the pasta aisle, torn between the 24 oz passata bottle on sale or the packets of ready-to-heat tomato rice. He does his best to cook meals from scratch, but college is _busy_ and sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do… but then again, the pasta sauce is on sale and the rice packets aren’t.

But while he’s weighing up money versus effort and factoring in _at least I already have like three vegetables in my basket so that’s a balanced meal, right,_  a clatter from the end of the aisle catches his attention.

The guy at the end of the aisle is smaller than Leo, with hair that looks silky soft and delicate, angelic features, a fawn coat. He’s half-kneeling on the floor, gathering things back into his basket, and chewing his lip all the while. Leo’s half-tempted to go and help him, but the guy pushes himself to his feet within seconds and Leo hangs back. Now he looks closer, he can see what the guy has in his hand. It’s two pairs of kitchen shears—the heavy-duty kind—and in his basket, Leo can see a full set of kitchen knives. It’s a set that has a cleaver in it, the sort Leo won’t go near because he’s seen too many bad horror movies and even the sight of them usually makes him feel lightheaded.

But the guy looks into his basket as he’s putting the shears away, and his face is light and sweet with contentment.

Leo’s heart skips a beat.

And then it starts thudding again, loud, fast, frightening, rhythmic: _I’m-in-love, I’m-in-love, I’m-in-love._

 

* * *

 

The next time Leo sees the angel-faced guy, he’s standing in the confectionary aisle. Leo meanders up near the organic nut butters and sneaks glances down the aisle periodically while he’s pretending to choose between almond and peanut.

(He’ll choose Nutella in the end, but Angel Face doesn’t need to know that.)

Angel Face has one of the giant bags of jumbo marshmallows in his hand, and there’s a frown on his face as he looks down at it. With a shrewd eye, he reaches into his basket and pulls out a blowtorch. He holds the two together, and in a half-trance, mimes doing something that looks like it involves something dangerous, like explosions, or exposing sugar to naked flame.

And then he grabs that bag and another one, and leaves the aisle.

Leo stares after his retreating back. He’s gone sort of warm and squishy inside and weak at the knees, like a marshmallow getting toasted to within an inch of its life, and he wonders, idly, if Angel Face has any more blowtorches at home, or if he himself can maybe transform into an marshmallow just so Angel Face can set fire to him too. That would be a really nice way to go.

He hopes, quietly, as he picks up his Nutella and turns to go and track down his favourite brand of plunger coffee, that the guy’s remembered to get some butane gas for it.

But then Leo stops in his tracks. What if he hasn’t? What if he’s forgotten, and he gets home and realises, and… he’d be disappointed, definitely. He would have to come out to the supermarket again, then. If he timed it right, that would give Leo another chance to see him, which would admittedly be amazing.

But what if Angel Face sees he forgot to buy gas, and cries?

Leo doesn’t even want to imagine Angel Face crying. His heart might break.

So he heads to the hardware section, grabs ten bottles of butane gas, and dashes about the supermarket, laying them between the knives, the biscuits and confectionery, and one in the ice cream freezer. Angel Face looks like he might like sweet things. It’s worth a shot.

And with his stomach spinning itself in knots, Leo accepts that there’s nothing more he can do short of actually seeking Angel Face out, and he continues his shopping.

Just before he leaves, he sees that the bottle he left by the graham crackers has disappeared, and he can’t help but smile the whole time he’s at the checkout.

 

* * *

 

Leo doesn’t get to the supermarket for the next couple of Wednesdays. Mid-terms are on him and all over him like a tidal wave, and all the cramming in the world can’t make up for not being great at school and actually studying instead of music practice. But with the aid of his coffee plunger, Google, several good friends in the same boat, and that one golden slide from Lecture Eight of Ethnomusicology, Leo makes it through.

He’s exhausted, but he’s survived, and he heads to the supermarket to restock his sad, depleted kitchen shelves with something other than coffee and instant soup.

It’s while he’s in the toiletries aisle, just by International Foods, that he catches a glimpse of soft chestnut hair and a plaid scarf, and backtracks with his heart jumping in his chest.

His first thought is that Angel Face looks as exhausted as Leo feels. He seems grey around the gills, like exams have taken their toll on him too, or maybe that he’s been ill. Weirdly enough, it twinges at Leo that he hasn’t been around to notice whether Angel Face _has_ been sick or not. He could have helped him. Offered to cook for him or something.

They’re strangers, but if Angel Face is a college student too, aren’t they all just strangers in the same boat, trying to keep above water—and shouldn’t he _want_ to help him out?

The other thing Leo notices is that Angel Face’s basket is full, for once.

And in his other arm, he’s cradling a 25-pound bag of rice. He isn’t even straining under the weight.

Leo eyes up his own basket. It’s hardly lightweight, given he kinda forgot to get to the supermarket last weekend, but to be able to carry a full basket plus one of those 25-pound rice bags… Even Leo might struggle with that, and he’s definitely more muscular than Angel Face. Right?

Or maybe not. There’s different kinds of muscular, Leo knows, and someone who looks petite isn’t necessarily all bones and no brawn. There’s no telling how much power this guy could deal.

Thus, the conundrum is this: Angel Face is gorgeous (genetics played him an excellent hand), and adventurous (most times Leo’s seen him here, he’s been buying things which verge on dangerous once Leo’s googled them at home, and he’s got respect for that level of guts), and he could probably deadlift Leo (which is really hot).

But Leo… well, he wears dorkily big headphones in the supermarket while he listens to Christian rap and bubblegum pop on an iPod Classic, and still has kinda bad acne and buys the three-litre bottles of milk because he can get through them in a week by himself (he honestly doesn’t know whether he should be proud of that or not) and doesn’t eat enough rice to justify getting one of those 25-pound bags and carrying it around just to impress Angel Face. And if carrying around rice is his idea of flirting and making himself seem attractive, he honestly can’t reason why Angel Face would see anything in him. And secretly making sure he gets butane gas to top up his blowtorch isn’t going to be enough to woo him when Angel Face doesn’t actually know it’s him who did it that one time.

Leo gives his arms a critical once-over.

Maybe he ought to get to the gym more.

 

* * *

 

 

The next Wednesday, Leo wears one of his (clean and tightfitting) gym tops to the supermarket, and shoves his jacket in the bottom of his backpack before he steps inside. He has no idea whether Angel Face even swings that way, but if they’re going to remain strangers in the supermarket without speaking, his biceps and pecs are going to have to do the talking. This is just the way it is.

Now, Leo has never seen Angel Face by the refrigerator section. He’s wondered if he’s lactose intolerant; or if it’s just that he gets his yogurt and cheese and whatever else some other day of the week.

But as his luck would have it, he spies Angel Face perusing the flavoured milks, basket filled with extra-large matches and more butane gas down by his feet. Ignoring the way Angel Face’s tongue is poking through his lips and the barest flush dusted over his cheeks, Leo approaches the refrigerator shelves and takes his time looking over the selection. He keeps his—largely full and very heavy—basket slung over one arm. Taking his time looking over the shelves, he picks up a full-fat three-litre milk bottle, and then a semi-skimmed three-litre with a closer expiration date, and makes sure to lift them up very slowly and deliberately.

He sneaks a glance to his left. Angel Face is staring at him with wide eyes and his mouth caught agape, a little bottle of speciality chocolate milk hanging forgotten in his hand, and his entire face has flushed scarlet. Underneath the flush, Leo’s finally close enough that he can spot a scattering of freckles.

Leo chooses the semi-skimmed milk, in the end, and walks away with slightly sore arms and the biggest, sappiest grin on his face, feeling like maybe—just maybe—he has a shot with this guy.

 

* * *

 

It’s been four weeks since Leo fell in love, and he comes to the supermarket with his hopes up. He takes his time going through the aisles, and doesn’t look. Angel Face will be there, eventually. Leo has a really, really good feeling about today.

And sure enough, Angel Face is down the far end of the dry goods aisle. He doesn’t have much in his basket, and doesn’t have a list out. He looks, for once, like he doesn’t even have much of a reason to be in here. Maybe, just maybe, today could be Leo’s chance.

He starts down the aisle, gives a passing glance to the energy bars and Weight Watchers pudding mixes and baby food stacked to his right, then looks back towards Angel Face. Angel Face, as it turns out, is in front of the baking section, and he catches Leo’s eye, and waves a bag of chocolate chips at him with a small, hopeful smile.

Leo waves back, and hastens his pace, fuelled by the warmth like liquid happiness surging through his veins. Angel Face is right there, _right there,_ holding chocolate chips—does he like baking? Is he more like Leo and the type to eat them straight from the packet?—and Leo might be about to have an _actual conversation_ with him.

But he’s so caught up, he doesn’t notice the box.

And Leo’s foot catches against it, and he trips and plummets to the floor. His stomach swoops. His heart stops.

And the basket crashes with a _thud_ and a _crack_ seconds before Leo’s hands and knees smack against the floor.

For several long, terrible seconds, Leo kneels there, utterly mortified. His palms sting and his knees ache, but it’s nothing to the burning flush creeping up his neck, and his stomach doing flip-flops. He’s just tripped and fallen in the supermarket, dropped his basket, and worst of all—

“Oh my god, are you okay!”

—he’s just done it in front of Angel Face, who has flung his basket aside and is _running straight towards him._

If there’s any way the floor can actually swallow him up whole, Leo sends up a fervent prayer that it can happen right now.

But as Angel Face drops to his knees, and in a high, sweet voice starts saying things Leo can hardly parse for his mortification, something else catches his attention. It’s the bottles of Coca Cola in the basket that Angel Face flung aside. They’re on the floor, leaking.

And one is rolling towards a torn packet of Mentos. They’re inches away.

“DUCK!” yells Leo.

Two seconds later, the Coca Cola explodes.

Leo unfolds himself from the turtle position in trepidation. The air sings pungent with Coca Cola, and there’s a wash of it through the whole aisle. Somewhere down by the homewares, Leo thinks he can see the twisted remains of the unfortunate bottles.

There’s a soft moan, and Leo fixes his gaze right before him: on a thoroughly Cola-doused Angel Face. His pants are soaked with the stuff, and it’s dark and sticky in his hair, and caught in a vortex of adrenaline and disbelief, Leo doesn’t think this guy’s ever looked more beautiful. Maybe, Leo considers for the first time, he isn’t an angel, because angels certainly don’t cause seventh-grade science-experiment-worthy explosions in public places.

But if he’s human, maybe that makes him even better.

“Sorry,” Angel Face whispers, pink-cheeked.

“You’re gorgeous,” Leo says in a daze. Angel Face’s eyes widen.

“I’m Guanghong,” he says breathlessly, after several seconds of stunned silence.

“Leo,” says Leo, smiling as wide as he's able. He sticks out his hand, and Angel Face— _Guanghong—_ takes it with a hesitant, brilliant grin.

Leo’s not sure how things will pan out from here. They’ve just caused mass destruction and kind of a gigantic mess between them. He’s probably going to have to do another grocery shop. If they’re really unlucky, they may get banned from this supermarket.

But hey—Leo might just have a chance with Guanghong after all.


End file.
